


Blue & Gold

by bauer



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: I'll be honest there's a lot of kink here and i don't know how to tag half of it, M/M, Platonic BDSM, Under-negotiated Kink, Verbal Humiliation, Watersports, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauer/pseuds/bauer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark really needs to stop making bets with Jake. He probably should have recognized the pattern of escalation after Jake made him kiss his skates right in the middle of the locker room, to the chorus of catcalls from his teammates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue & Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Local ingrate dislikes turkey, revamps own sinbin fill to avoid familial bonding.
> 
> Pretty hilarious that I'm more shame-faced about this than my other fics, eh? Watersports isn't usually my kink, but a perfect storm resulted in... this. I ended up editing this through the cracks of my fingers, so please publicly point and laugh at typos/inconsistencies. McCabe and Pysyk's actual relationship is built on mutual [love](http://www.buffalohockeybeat.com/jake-mccabe-and-mark-pysyk-forming-strong-defense-pair-for-sabres/) and [respect](http://sabres.buffalonews.com/2015/10/17/sabres-notebook-pysyk-mccabe-growing-together-on-defense/), but I don't know how much of that made it into this fic. Again, point and yell if this fic is poorly tagged.
> 
> Fun fact: half the guys featured in this fic are now on IR.
> 
> Update: half of the guys have now been traded.

Mark never tells Jake he’s gay. He doesn’t try to hide, really, and Jake picks up on it pretty quick. He’s caught Jake looking at him, assessing, when Mark tries to pick up guys at bars. Jake’s invited himself over before Mark’s hookups have cleared out before. Eventually Jake stops trying to hook Mark up, gives up on roping Mark into threesomes (or foursomes, or so on). Mark takes Jake’s quiet acceptance as resolution, and scratches any speeches he was planning on making.Jake doesn’t let it be the end.

One day, in a Rockford hotel room, Mark comes out of the shower to find Jake waiting on his bed, phone in hand. Mark’s phone, more specifically. “Uh, what are you doing?”

Jake glances at him, and then clearly reads from Mark’s phone, “Alex wants to know, ‘When are you getting back to Rochester, I know your hole is hungry for this dick.’ Really?” The horrible image of Jake letting himself in, lying on Mark’s bed, glancing at his phone when it buzzes, seeing that, is too easy to imagine. Mark had always found Alex kind of annoying, desperate in his attempts to sound powerful, and Mark would have rolled his eyes hearing that from Alex. Somehow, hearing it in Jake’s incredulous tone makes Mark burn.

Mark really cannot do this with his straight teammate. Hell, him being straight may even be why it affects Mark the way it does. But he cannot do this.

“What the fuck, dude,” Mark snaps. Jake lets out a mean laugh. He throws the phone onto the end table when Mark tries to take it, then drags Mark onto the bed. They struggle for a minute, Mark too embarrassed to let Jake to what he wants. He loses his towel at some point, and protecting himself and trying to fend Jake off proves too much. Jake catches both of Mark’s above his head, and pins Mark’s legs open with his knees.

“Mark, buddy, I already figured you were into dick, but I didn’t think you were like that.”

“I’m not like anything,” Mark whines.

“Yeah? Because I was looking through your texts earlier. Figured that Alex must have been some asshole outlier, but he’s not, is he? You like that shit, don’t you? You like guys talking to you like you’re some bitch.”

“No, I fucking don’t!” He really fucking does. Jake, pinning him while fully clothed and talking like that, is making him hard. “Swear to God, Jake, if you don’t let me up-”

“Shut up, Mark. You want to prove me wrong? Alright, I’ll make it easy for you to prove it to me. Don’t come.”

_“What?”_

“You heard me.” Jake lies heavy on Mark, and the rough burn of denim against his dick forces a tiny grunt out of Mark. “Get rid of that hard on, don’t come. Prove to me that you aren’t some slut that lets any guy take what he wants.”

Mark groans hard as his dick spurts precome onto Jake’s jeans. “Fuck you.”

“I’m really not asking for much. If you tried this shit with me- hell, we wouldn’t even be in this position if it was me.” Jake squeezes his wrists. He has a point; Jake isn’t any bigger than Mark. If Mark tried, he could break Jake’s hold, get out from beneath him. Report Jake to HR.

Mark doesn’t. Mark wants- he doesn’t know what he wants. However ashamed he is, having Jake over him and demanding that Mark do what he wants warms Mark all over, ties him up and frees him at once. So stays under Jake, swearing at him and getting cooed at in response.

Jake’s not quite grinding on him, but the teasing way he keeps shifting his weight on top of Mark is making him dizzy. He’s panting, shaking his head side to side. Mark could come, he can feel it in his gut, but it takes Jake shifting forward, elbows on Mark’s biceps so that he can run his hands through Mark’s hair and say, “Come on, Pysy, I know you need to. I know you can’t help it. Just let go.”

And Mark does, his whole body shaking from it. “Gross, dude.” Jake eases off but does go far. Mark musters his strength to look down at himself, at the streaks of come on his stomach. Jake takes off his shirt, and God, he’s not even hard. Mark drops back and thumps his head against the bed. He feels Jake wiping the jizz off of him and is drifting by the time he feels the shirt being pressed against his mouth. He grunts, but it doesn’t take much force for Jake’s fingers to get into his mouth. “Come on, Mark, you made this mess. You gotta clean up after yourself.” The cotton tastes bitter from his come and Jake’s sweat, but he doesn’t fight it getting shoved in.

Mark blinks slow up at Jake. Jake’s looking back at him, and Mark was so ready for him to storm out, for this to never be spoken of again. Instead, the look on Jake’s face settles Mark before he even sighs and flops down next to Mark.

“You coulda just said. I would’ve taken care of you.” Mark whines and goes to take the t-shirt out to his mouth, but Jake slaps his hand away. “You can take that out when you’re done lying to me.”

Mark’s not sure he’ll ever stop blushing, and he feels so hot that he’s fairly sure he has brain damage, but that doesn’t keep him from falling asleep.

Things are more or less the same after that day. Jake doesn’t treat Mark any different, sticks close and keeps winning bets. Some of Mark’s punishments seem a bit more… pointed, knowing that Jake knows about him, but then the season ends. Jake goes to Madison, Mark goes to Edmonton.

Mark works, and he hooks up, and he works, and wonders if things will be back to normal with Jake once the season comes around. If they’re even in the same city.

Mark’s grateful for summer to be over by the end. It’s good to see Jake in person, even though they texted over the summer. Things are calm at first; both of them are focused on proving themselves during camp. Once they both make the team, the bets start up again, wholesome enough that they get articles written about them.

Things make a definitive switch a few months into the season. While most of the older guys had laughed the venture off, the boys decided to take pity on poor, illegal JackandSam, which meant some shitty college bar in Elmwood.

“Christ, I’ve already done my time in college bars,” Jake complains. Apparently, that is not enough for him to stop shoving cheap beer down his and Mark’s throat.

“Poor star athlete McBabe. I’m sure you had an awful time in college,” Mark says, leaning heaving against Jake. They’re more than a few rounds in at this point, not including intermediate shots.  

Jake snorts. “Nah, you’re right. I had fun.” Mark feels a large hand on his face, tilting his face up towards Jake’s. “You ever fuck someone in bathroom before?”

“Uh.” Mark blinks. “No. Can’t say I have.”

“Well, this is definitely the place to scratch that off your bucket list,” Jake says, breaking eye contact to scan the crowd. Mark swallows.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah? Well, I think it’s a swell idea. How about this, we’ll make it a bet.” Mark makes a distrusting noise. “If you manage to fuck one of the guys in this bar, I’ll clean your apartment for a month.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You have to wear a pair of chick’s underwear to practice,” Jake says immediately. Mark has some suspicions about when Jake came up this plan. But Mark does hate cleaning. And constantly losing bets. Really, picking up is hardly the worst- or hardest- thing he could do. He snorts and slides out of the bench.

Which is how Mark ends up on his knees in that bar’s bathroom, face getting fucked by some guy who’s closer to Jake’s type than his own. Mark looks up at the guy through his clumped lashes. Skinny, blond, on the smaller side; really not someone Mark would usually go for. But Jake had basically picked him out, and now Jake’s behind him, blocking the bathroom door. It’s comforting, even with this guy’s dick bruises the back of his throat. Maybe even better.

Mark decides not to analyze his arousal further.

Mark’s got to admit, this fucking in public thing does have its merits. It feels filthy, dangerous in a way that’s hard to manufacture without some creativity. He’ll probably take a few showers for him to feel clean again, a thought that makes him moan, then gag when it makes the guy thrust harder.

His mouth is numb by the time the guy asks, “Can I come on your face?”

He doesn’t pull out of Mark’s mouth, and Jake answers for him. “No, just come in his mouth. Don’t swallow, Mark.” The guy grunts, pulls Mark’s head closer with both hands and jackrabbits in and out of his mouth. It makes it hard for Mark to squeeze in a breath. The guy is loud, showy, when he comes. Too late to make it clear that there’s no making Jake jealous, Mark supposes.

Mark’s legs wobble as he stands. The guy helps, but he can’t really do much to hold Mark up. Jake comes up behind him for the assist, wrapping an arm around Mark’s chest and holding a paper towel up Mark’s mouth. “Spit.” Mark does, and Jake wipes at Mark’s mouth as the guy tugs at Mark’s shorts. His grip is hard and fast on Mark’s dick. It makes him squirm, uncomfortable. “Hey, buddy, lighten up. He’s easy for it, just be nice to him,” Jake says, pressed against Mark’s back. The guy follows Jake’s order, although he doesn’t look thrilled about it.

“How about you?” the guy asks, looking right past Mark. Jake snorts.

“Don’t worry about me. Get him off then your job’s done.” Mark whimpers and comes before the guy and Jake break eye contact.

The guy glances at Mark, then smirks as he squeezes Mark dry before wiping his hand off. “He’s cute. Take care of him,” he says before slapping Jake on the back and leaving.

Mark’s sluggish but sated, proud of himself, as he tucks his dick back into his shorts. Jake laughs, presses a kiss to Mark’s temple. “What was that, buddy?”

“What that’s supposed to mean?”  Mark complains, mood taking a sharp turn. “You picked him out and everything!”

“I said you had to fuck someone. That wasn’t fucking. Your dick didn’t even get in him.” Mark tries arguing his point, that his voice is rough enough to prove fucking has occurred, and if he still isn’t satisfied then they can go find another guy, but Jake keeps speaking over him. “Do you think the shit my ex left behind will fit, or should we swing by Victoria’s Secret?”

“Fuck you, I did what you asked,” Mark says glumly, but he knows the argument is already lost, thinking back to Jake’s exact wording. Of course the straight guy wouldn't count oral.

Still, Mark can't imagine walking into the locker room in whatever skimpy, satiny shit Jake would pick out. The thought ties up Mark’s stomach.

It's worse the next day when Mark is standing in front of Jake’s mirror before practice. Jake, apparently, already had a pair in mind. They're a soft, baby-pink cotton with creamy hearts and bows that are pulled taut by Mark’s dick, which really doesn’t fit.

It is immeasurably worse than anything Mark had in mind. “No, no, no. Can't do this. No way.”

“Why? I think you look real cute,” Jake says from behind Mark, clearly holding back a laugh.

“No fucking way can the other guys see me like this,” Mark replies as he kicks off that… adorable contraption.

“You lost, fair and square,” Jake says, voice taking a hard edge. He really hates Mark trying to back out, for whatever reason.

“Jake, really, I can’t- I’ll do something else. Another dare, but I really can’t-”

“You don’t want to. That’s a completely different thing.” Jake sounds disappointed, and the coil of shame that causes in Mark is worse than the one caused by the underwear. Mark’s ready to renegotiate- a less pretty pair, some more flamboyant briefs, the assless underwear Mark wears sometimes wears in the summer- but Jake beats him to the punch. “Alright, fine. You want to back out of this. How about another bet, double or nothing.”

This is probably an awful idea, but Mark just wants- he doesn’t want Jake to hold this against him. “Yeah? What do you suggest?”

“Fuck Risto, and you’re home free.”

Mark shakes his head hard, like he’s trying to dislodge what he just heard. “Our Risto? Rasmus Risto? Is he even gay? Like, I am fairly sure he isn’t.”

“With that mouth? No way he’s not into guys.”

“Spend a lot of time looking at his mouth, Caber?” Mark says, stalling, frantically trying to figure out the best way out of this. He gets a sharp slab on the ass for the disrespect.

“I thought I made it pretty easy for you the first time around, but you couldn’t make it happen. I’m not going to make it easy for you to weasel out of your obligations, Pysy. You make your own decisions, your own mistakes.  So are you gonna try your hand again, or you going to man up and follow through?” Jake looks hard, unyielding, in the mirror. Mark knows this is it.

Mark really does not like making decisions. He has his rituals, his processes, that take the thought out what he needs to do for the day. Then he has Jake, who decides what they do on off days and where to eat while they’re out and how, exactly, Mark is going to embarrass himself on any given day.

“And… and if I can’t?”

“I’ll make you piss yourself. In private, in our hotel room, since that’s apparently a thing for you. But no way am I letting you back out of that, if you take me up.”

Mark gulps. He can’t even think. Every option is a dead end. There’s no way Rasmus would be up for it, but Mark knows he can’t go into the locker room looking like this. Jake can’t be serious.

“So if I fuck Risto, or he fucks me, I don’t have to do this? That’s my reward?”

“Yup,” Jake says, popping the p and snapping the elastic against Mark’s thigh.

“Fine. Fuck. Fine.”

Mark has no idea how he plans on pulling this off. Him and Rasmus are buddies; they’ve known each other for a few years. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Rasmus pick up, so maybe Jake’s onto something. At the same time, Mark has no idea how he’s supposed to go from just-buddies to let’s-fuck-once-to-prove-a-point.

He figures asking for a favor, as buddies, is his best bet.

“Fuck no,” is Rasmus’ answer. His brows are particularly furrowed at the suggestion. Mark isn’t particularly surprised by his answer. “I’m skating twenty minutes a game. Leading D in assists. I have to work to make myself better for the team, I can’t… do what you’re asking.”

“You could do me?” Mark offers, but he feels like he already knows the answer.

“No! You have a job to do, too! Neither of us can afford walking around funny.” Mark groans and flops face-first onto the bed. “Ah, sorry. Aren’t you and Caber already…”

“What? Fuck, no. Definitely not. He’s straight. Really, Risto, it’s no big deal.” Mark throws out an arm and pats Rasmus’ leg. “Thanks for not punching me.”

“It’s fine,” Rasmus replies, in that distrustful, Finnish way of his. He pulls out his phone, and Mark feels like Rasmus’ outside-team friends are probably hearing a pretty funny story right now. Mark stays where he is and tries to figure out how he’s going to get out of this one. Would Jake know the difference if Mark went out, got some rando to fuck him, and sent back proof? Would he ask Rasmus? Would Rasmus lie about it, if Mark asked again?

These bets, dares; they don’t mean anything. How Mark can never fucking win anything proves how unbalanced they are. Mark deserves a win, at this point. Still, the thought of lying to Jake makes Mark feel sick to his stomach. He doesn’t want his punishment either. Could Jake possibly be serious about making Mark _piss_ himself? How would that even work?

Mark stays there, monopolizing Rasmus’ bed and running through his options, even as Larry comes back and European movies start playing in the background. He finally slinks off when Rasmus efforts to make him leave become too obvious to ignore.

He knocks on Jake’s door, even though it’s technically his room, too. Jake opens the door, eyebrows up. “I told you he was straight,” Mark says as he elbows past him.

“Yeah, I suspected as much.”

 

***

 

“You know, I’m starting to think you like losing,” Jake muses. Neither of them are wearing pants, so his legs are bare where they’re bracketing Mark’s. The two of them would be chest to back if Jake wasn’t holding Mark’s arms behind him. Mark struggles weakly to free himself, but Jake’s strong and it only makes the pressure in his gut worse.

“Come on, I really gotta go.” His stomach aches from it. Mark can’t stop squirming, even as Jake tightens his grasp on Mark’s elbows. He’s clenching everything down there, desperately trying to prevent the inevitable.

“Kinda the point, Pysy.” Mark doesn’t know why he was so sure Jake couldn’t have possibly been serious about making Mark piss himself. Thinking back, how many Gatorades Jake volunteered to get for him and how often he’d been herded away from the bathroom were pretty obvious clues. He should have expected this to happen the second the hotel room door closed behind them.

He’s so full it’s sending pangs up his torso. It’d be so easy to just let go but- Mark whines and squeezes his legs together. “Shit like this is why I’m your only friend,” Mark bites out. Jake sighs.

“Buddy. I’m not letting you out of this again. I can wait all day. You can’t.” His leg hairs feel supercharged when they brush against Mark’s legs.

Mark’s panting, sweating with how hard not pissing himself is. “I can’t, Jake, come on, just let me go and I’ll, I’ll cook dinner for a month or give you a massage or something, god, Caber, don’t make me-”

Jake pulls Mark closer and blows a raspberry on his neck.

Mark jerks, squeaks, then sobs when feels the first hot spurt leak out of his prick. It takes him a few seconds to get the slow stream under control, frantically rubbing his knees together all the while, and the wet spot it leaves on his boxers clings to his dick.

“There you go,” Jake says. He somehow maneuvers both of Mark’s wrists into one hand, but honestly Mark doesn’t have a whole lot of strength left. He uses his free hand to brush against Mark’s ribs, and the resulting jerk forces more piss out of him. He can feel it dripping down his thighs and puddling under him.

“How are you doing this to the poor cleaning ladies?” Mark asks sadly. Jake laughs.

“Here, let me help you out.” Jake reaches into Mark’s damp boxers and pulls his dick out. It looks small and vulnerable in Jake’s massive hands. Mark would have thought it’d be easier to hold back with a little of the pressure relieved, but instead he feels even closer to popping. He’s so embarrassed that he’s flushed everywhere, but he has to go and, fuck, this was all Jake’s fault anyway.

A small trickle starts the second Mark unclenches. It’s impossible to keep it in after he lets go, and it takes no time for him to be pissing at full force. Jake’s aiming it at Mark’s chest, soaking his t-shirt. It’s so gross and embarrassing, but Mark can’t help but relax back against Jake’s chest as he finds release, after however long holding it in. It feels like it could go on forever.

They both hear the door open. Jake freezes, but there is nothing Mark can do about the stream of piss flowing from his dick. Which is how Mike Weber comes to find two of his rookie d-men wetting a bed together.

Nobody says or does anything until Mark’s piss trickles to an end. Jake doesn’t even let go of Mark’s dick. Eventually Jake starts out with a, “Uh, hey, Webs-” before getting cut off by Mike saying, “Babe, why don’t you go take a walk.” Jake jerks out from behind Mark, causing him to fall back onto his elbows. He sends a panicked look back at Mark as he rushes out the door, not even bothering to throw on some pants.

Mark has never been more mortified in his life. He can’t even force himself to look past Mike’s shoes. Distantly he wonders if he’s cut out for a life of living in the backwoods of Alberta and never showing his face again.

“Mark,” Mike says. “Get off the bed.”

It takes a moment for the order to register, but when it does Mark jolts into action, tripping over himself to move between the bed of sin and Jake’s. Mark’s pale toes make a very interesting contrast against the hotel carpeting.

He hears the quilt being pulled off the bed and a sigh. “Maybe wait in the bathroom.” Mark nods jerkily, glancing briefly at Mike’s shoulder before leaving the room.

Mark doesn’t know what to do with himself, alone in the stark white room. He realizes his dick’s still hanging out so he tucks it back into his cooling boxers, which are even worse than they were warm. Mark feels like he should strip, but he’s not sure what Mike wants from him. If anything. Maybe Mike will finish cleaning up their mess then go straight to Dan and tell him the kids are unstable, send one to Rochester and the other to the trading block so that this never happens again.

He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room until Mike comes in. Mark still can’t stand looking at him. Mike sighs again and it rolls Mark’s stomach. “Put your arms up.” Mark does, and Mike pulls his shirt off of him, avoiding the wet spots. He does the same with Mark’s boxers, hooking a finger into the waistband and pulling it down for Mark to step out of. He holds Mark’s elbow to keep him steady. Mark’s still not sure what any of this means. The image of Mike bending him over the sink and spanking him for being so stupid crosses his mind, ruining his hypothesis that he couldn’t possibly get any redder.

“Mark.”

“Huh?”

“Look at me.” But Mark couldn’t, so Mike grabs his chin and forces him to look into Mike’s eyes. Mark doesn’t know what he was expecting, but the accessing look Mike was giving him made Mark hold his breathe. He feels his mouth drop open and wishes Mike’s thumb would move a little farther north. “Get in the shower.”

Mark nods, but he doesn’t move until Mike shoves him, gently. He rushes to get in and turn the water on as hot as he can stand it. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Mike stripping, but he doesn’t dare turn and oogle. He’d already trained himself out of that habit.

Still, he doesn’t dare move a muscle when Mike gets in behind him. He hears a cap pop behind him, but still startles when he feels a wash cloth touch his skin. Mike shushes him as he runs the cloth over his back. **  
**

“So, do you want to tell me what that was back there?” he finally asks.

“I, uh. Lost a bet.”

“Uh huh. And what was this bet on?”

Mark can’t tell Mike that he failed to get Rasmus to fuck him. Mark loses a lot, though, so it’s not hard to find an alternative. “... Mario Kart?”

It’s a little hard to think of an alternative.

Mike hums. Mark holds his breath as Mike washes his ass, but he doesn’t linger. He suds up Mark’s inner thighs then turns him around. Mike isn’t that much bigger than Mark, but he feels it. It makes Mark want to cower under Mike’s gaze.

They don’t say anything as Mike washes Mark’s chest. Mike almost feels like he could fall asleep under the steam and Mike’s steady hand.

Mark gasps when Mike grabs Mark’s dick, nothing but callouses on soft, warm skin. He pulls back Mark’s foreskin, and for a second it could almost pass for a thorough cleaning. But Mike doesn’t let go. He just keeps pulling on Mark’s dick, slow and patient. “Is this what I should expect from you two?”

“Wuh?” Mark’s face burns hot again. He’s horrified that a vet he looks up to saw him at his weakest, with his soft dick in Jake’s hand. He wants to explain how it’s like this with Jake, there’s just… just the other things. But Mark can hardly force the words out. “No, no, I just… we just-"

“Just what? Can’t help doing dumb shit? Can’t help pissing on things like a couple of dogs?” Mark whines. He hasn’t hooked up much since being back in the city, and he’d almost forgotten embarrassing to be spoken to like that by the guy who has his dick in his hand, who can feel it twitch at his words. Humiliation burns low in his belly, right by where his orgasm is building. “Or was what I just saw a whole ‘nother issue? Are you going to be skipping out on shifts because you can’t keep yourself under control, like some kid? Should we be telling the equipment guys to start packing plastic sheets?”

Everything’s getting twisted together inside of Mark. He feels a pressure building behind his eyes. He feels like he’s about to burst again. “Webs, please. Can I…”

“Can you what? Make another mess?”

“Can I please come?” Mark sobs. Mike sounds so disappointed in him, but Mark can see through the slits of his eyelids that Mike’s smirking. Like this is fun for him.

“So that’s a yes? I guess that’s what you get from boys like you. Go ahead, kid, let it go.” Mark does, and it makes his legs shake so much that he falls into Mike’s chest. Mike laughs and rubs a hand through Mark’s head, hopefully not the one covered in jizz. Even if it is (and doesn’t that thought make Mark flush), they can wash it out easily enough.

Mark can feel Mike’s hard dick pressing against his leg. He wraps a shaky hand around it and makes Mike grunt. Mark kind of wants Mike to come on his face, but instead he gets turned around and Mike fucks between his thighs before coming on his ass. Which is just as good, honestly.

After cleaning off properly, Mike wraps Mark in a bathrobe and escorts him to Mark’s room, which is a blessed single. They don’t talk about it, and Mark figures being allowed to sleep next to Mike is proof enough that he’s not getting shipped out in the morning

Jake makes significant faces at him all next morning, but Mark refuses to tell him anything as retaliation for bailing. Which was mostly Mike’s shooing him out, but whatever.

It’s during shooting drills that Mike yells out after Mark misses a shot, “Hey, Pisser, maybe aim for the net!” A stronger man would have rebuffed such a weak, ironic chirp. As it is, Mark trips over a flat spot on the ice. He can hear Jake’s demonic laugh behind him. Pisser, Pysyer, it could catch on, oh, God-

Mark’s shaky for the rest of practice, the hamster wheels in his mind going full speed. Jake shouldering him into a wall, cornering him, doesn’t help. Jake wraps a hand around his neck, not tight, but Mark feels paralyzed by his proximity. “You fucking slut,” Jake hisses past a manic grin. Mark can’t pin down his tone; awed, angry, disbelieving. “Did he fuck you? After you made a goddamn mess of yourself, he still took pity on your needy ass and fucked you?”

“He cleaned me up first,” Mark says weakly.

Jake barks out a laugh. “Baby, I think it’s a little late to ever clean you up. I can’t believe you let Webs fuck you. What’s the matter, huh? Risto turned you down, I won’t let you have the most important dick in your life, so you’re just going to fuck any Sabres D available? Shit, I guess I can believe that. Bet you didn’t even think for a second that I might not want you to. Swear to God, Mark, as soon as we get back to the hotel I’m going to-”

“Pysyer, eh? That’s a new one.” Gorges walks into the hallway- not surprising, really, it’s on the way out- and they all freeze. _This really needs to stop happening, when did we get so sloppy,_ Mark wonders, distantly. He can barely see Josh around Jake, but he has this cold, assessing look. Mark’s gaze jerks back to Jake. Jake’s looking back at him, analyzing. He’s not holding Mark hard. Mark could easily break his hold, throw a punch in retaliation, laugh off the situation and Josh’s question. He doesn’t. He looks back at Jake, wide-eyed and trusting, and waits for Jake to make the decision.

Mark sees the recognition cross Jake’s face and watches a mean smirk pull at his lips before Jake turns his head around and says, “Yeah. Mark, here, has horrible self-control. Wanna hear about it?”


End file.
